He squeezed the NCO’s arm in a comradely fashion and took leave of the group with nods and waves of his hand.
Knocke headed back to the building that housed what was left of his headquarters, only to find most of it smashed flat to rubble and matchwood.
He exchanged silent looks with Hässelbach and Ett.
Across the road was the building in which the reserve had their contact point, and he liaised with Tüpper, who now sported a bloody bandage round his head.
“Happened when the artillery hit us, Oberführer. Flattened your headquarters… everyone was out by then thankfully. I lost three men… good men.”
“So is the reserve reformed?”
“I’ve two platoons to my name, Oberführer. One regular, one ersatzgruppe, pulled together from anything including mortar men and tank crew. My tanks are all back out in the front line, but I’ve commandeered the old beast outside, just to give me some clout if needed.”
Tüpper pointed out of the window to where the two platoons were positioned, either side of the tank that he had forcibly seconded from the 1e DCA.
Despite the circumstances, Knocke found himself amused and even happy at the sight.
“I’ll go and speak with your troops, Lieutenant. Do we have a field kitchen or are the cooks in your ersatz platoon too?”
“Both, Oberführer. The kitchen is set up over on the right there… behind that lump of metal… where the ersatzgruppe is placed. Quartermaster Niveau was reluctant to abandon his equipment, so he relocated the lot… ladle in one hand, rifle in the other. He’s making soup apparently.”
“Excellent. I’ll visit him directly. I’ll be using some of the ersatz platoon to distribute the food as soon as it’s ready. I also need you to leaven off eight men to reinforce the rocket troopers over to the wes…”
A runner broke into their conversation and, having been unable to decide whom to report to, spoke to both officers at the same time.
“Sirs, Capitaine Jorgensen reports that the enemy are gathering to his front. He requests infantry reinforcements immediately, and any ammunition that can be spared, especially grenades.”
“I’ll leave that with you, Lieutenant.”
Knocke saluted and left the position, heading towards the silent metal beast up the road.
0750 hrs, Tuesday. 1st April 1947, headquarters of Special Combat Group Rybalko, Zawichost, Poland.
Despite all his planning…
Despite the use of the very best the Motherland could supply…
Despite the valour of the soldiers and airmen…
Despite all the advantages, both contrived or brought on by Mother Nature herself…
Despite everything… the whole plan was behind schedule.
Not only that, but things were developing in spite of him, partially because of the fluid situation, and partially because of the enemy’s resistance and movement.
Rybalko was furious, and his humour did not improve as more and more reports arrived at his headquarters.
To the north his forces had blunted themselves on a German panzer division and both sides were hammered to a halt.
To the south, the French Alma Division had conceded ground but now stuck to a defensive line on Route 9 like it was nailed in place.
His 1st Guards Engineer had bled dry trying to shift the Legion bastards out… and to cap it all, Chekov, their commander, was missing, possibly killed.
‘…probably killed…good man too…’
Centrally, his forces had done extremely well and virtually surrounded one of the French Legion formations in and around Klimontów, and another force that had backed up behind it, and to its left.
His encircling strike had reached Route 9 and all but closed the enemy’s escape route at Łoniów… all but, but not quite.
Expecting a major attempt to escape down that route, Rybalko had oriented his forces in two directions but, as yet, no attempt to break out had materialised.
Instead, there were confused reports of strong forces pushing up to the south of Łoniów, and some extra troops appearing in the area of the enemy’s Alma Legion Division.
Added to that the increasing southern focus of the nearby units of the German Army and things were less than satisfactory.
And then there was the junction at Sulisɫawice.
“What’s happening at Sulisɫawice, Comrade?”
Major-General Ziberov was a humourless man who, despite advice from men in important positions, still sported a small moustache resembling that of the deceased German dictator.
He shook his head in exasperation.
“Comrade Polkovnik General, the reports were of heavy fighting but no progress. Last communication with Polkovnik Zilinski indicated a short respite whilst he resupplied and concentrated his forces. His final attack will begin at 0820… some hours after we should have been through the village and beyond.”
“He has enough forces at his disposal. Tell him I expect his report of victory before 0900. And what’s this?”
He selected an area of the map around Byszówka.
“When we split the Legion unit at Klimontów, it would seem that these troops to the east did not all surrender.”
The reports had been slightly exaggerated, in that his forces had taken a few dozen wounded men prisoner, including the force’s commanding officer, and the importance grew as it passed further up the chain of command.
In reality, a good portion of Emmercy’s group had survived intact, admittedly on the wrong side of the Soviet thrust, but had established itself defensively in and around Byszówka, where it now sat astride Route 9, limiting any moves to back up the 7th Guards Special Tanks that had previously used it to head south.
“What are we doing about it, Ivan?”
“General Artem’yev is personally leading a special group from his division to overcome the obstacle and open Route 9 up again.”
“Excellent, excellent… and this?”
“We’re unsure at the moment, Comrade Polkovnik General. Some garbled reports of a small attack… possibly coming from Koprzywnica… they’ve just come in but I’m having them questioned right now. Possibly stragglers from the enemy forces we’ve bottled up in Koprzywnica… possibly a diversion to make us think they’re moving back down the Floriańska… nothing more than that.”
Rybalko frowned and scratched his bald head, seeking out the place that was itching.
It was in his brain and beyond physical contact.
“Tell me your thinking, Ivan. Why would they not come down the Floriańska?”
“A longer route… poorer road really, especially after the artillery and mortars have done their work. Long exposed flanks… it’s not the sensible option… plus we see enemy forces massing here… south of Łoniów, and extra units bolstering the Alma Division between Łoniów and the Vistula. There’s no support available in the direction of Sulisɫawice… except for the small force that Zilinski can’t seem to shift.”
The reasoning made sense.
The Red Air Force had paid heavily acquiring the information about forces behind the enemy’s lines, but it was accurate and up to date.
And yet…
‘And yet these bastards are capable of anything…’
The itch went and Rybalko went into overdrive.
“Order our units here to prepare for attacks to their front from the newly arrived ‘relief’ force. Ivan… the forces here must still be prepared to resist a breakout but…”
Rybalko paused and thought it through one final time.
‘…but of course they fucking would!’
“Order our forces on the Floriańska… and here… and here… to reorient themselves to oppose an attack out of the pocket… towards Sulisɫawice. Tell Deniken… this is him here, yes?”